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The mother hoisted Chloe into the rear leather seat with an agonizing, breathless heave. She laid the sleeping child across the perforated leather cushions, pulling the sleeping bag tight around her small shoulders, before collapsing onto the floorboards between the front and rear seats, her knees pulling up to her chest, her back pressed against the lower doorframe.
She didn’t sit on the leather. She sat in the footwell, on the rubber all-weather floor mat, as though she believed her wet clothes were too dirty to touch the upholstery.
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“Close the door, ma’am,” Arthur said softly, not turning around, his eyes watching her reflection in the rearview mirror. “The heater will clear the draft in three minutes.”
The mother reached up with a trembling, chapped hand, caught the leather armrest, and pulled the heavy door shut.
*THUMP.*
The acoustic insulation of the flagship Lexus sealed the cabin like a bank vault. The roar of the highway, the shriek of the wind through the storage units, the violent rattle of the sleet against the tin roofs—all of it vanished, replaced by the soft, warm purr of the climate fans blowing air through the vents.
